He turned away, nostrils flaring as he exhaled. “No. I’m not listening to anymore of this nonsense.”
“Do you like your job, Prosper?” Wolfe asked.
“Of course I like it.”
“Well, how would you feel if your superiors heard about the Kult, and what we’ve done? What exactly do they do to coppers in prison?”
Prosper spun back around, eyes wide. “Are you threatening me?”
“You’re in as deep as the rest of us. Just listen to what Jerel has to say, then we’ll decide.”
Prosper snorted loudly and shook his head. “You’re all mad if you think I’ll have anything to do with this.”
Wolfe put his hand on Jerel’s shoulder. “Carry on, Jez.”
“I’m sorry, Prosper. Believe me. It’s like this. It’s my wife, Christine ...” Tears welled in his eyes and his lower lip trembled.
“Go on,” Wolfe said.
Jerel clenched his fists. “Well, some bastard ... he ... he raped her.”
Paris looked at the ground, obviously embarrassed by Jerel’s statement.
Ty whistled softly.
Wolfe nodded his head, squeezed Jerel’s shoulder.
Prosper stared at Jerel with a clinical, almost dispassionate expression. “I take it you know who did it then?”
Jerel nodded.
“Great. Just give me the name and I’ll arrest him.”
“Arrest him? I don’t want him arrested. I want him dead.” He waved his hands around as he spoke, punctuating each word. “Didn’t you hear what I said? He raped Christine. If you lock him away, he’ll be out within a few years. I want the bastard killed for what he did. D. E. A. D. Do you understand?”
Prosper heard a stick break in the woods and he froze, eyes alert. He scanned the trees to see if he could spot anyone around, ears attuned to the background noise, but he couldn’t see anybody.
I’m getting as bad as Ty, he thought.
“I understand—”
“No, you obviously bloody don’t.”
“Jez, look, I can make sure this man’s locked away.”
“You’re not listening to me. I don’t want him to come back out in a few years as if nothing’s happened. That’s not good enough. I want him to pay. I want him to suffer. And then I want him to die.” Jerel shook almost as much as his voice.
Prosper didn’t want to hear any more. He couldn’t kill anyone. Perhaps it would be easy for Jerel. He didn’t know what he had done in the army, but Prosper knew he’d been posted in the Middle East during the recent confrontations, so obviously he might have seen action, even ending up killing people.
The only things Prosper ever killed were insects with bug spray, and sometimes he felt guilty about that. He’d read somewhere that Buddhists believed in the sanctity of all life, and every living creature was sacred. Although not a Buddhist, he agreed with their philosophy, and no way could he even consider killing a person, let alone actually do it.
“I have to warn you now, all of you,” Prosper said, stony faced as he studied each of his friends’ faces in turn, “that if you plan to go ahead with this crazy idea, I’ll have no choice but to report you.”
“Did you forget your pledge, Prosper?” Wolfe asked.
“What about it?”
Wolfe stared at him, dark eyes unreadable, and intoned in a solemn voice, “From this day on, when any of us needs the assistance of his blood brothers, they shall answer the call or suffer the same punishment as those who committed the initial act of humiliation.”
“Are you threatening me?” Prosper took a step back, wary.
“No. I don’t need to threaten you. A brother’s in trouble. Think how you’d feel. What if someone raped Natasha? What would you want to do?”
“This is crazy. I wouldn’t want to kill anyone.”
“Bollocks. We all would. Every one of us would want to kill the bastard that had done it. Cut his filthy cock off and shove it in his mouth so he couldn’t do it again.”
“Yes, but you’re talking about murder. That’s not what utilizing the Kult is for.” He waved his hands as he spoke.
“Don’t think of it as murder, think of it as a duty.”
Prosper had to put a stop to this foolishness before it went any further.
Murder!
There had to be another way to deal with this. He’d think of something. He had to.
“So who is it?” Prosper asked. “Who did it?” Perhaps if he knew who it was, he could arrest the man first and that would be an end to it. Jerel might not be happy about it, but he might be grateful in the long term. He was acting rashly at the moment, an action born of anger.
Jerel gritted his teeth. When he spoke, his voice was filled with venom. “When I got back here after leaving the army, I got a security job working the door at a nightclub. Well, I walked in early one night and there were these men talking to Simmons, the boss. I knew there was something funny about it, and as they hadn’t seen me, I ducked behind the bar. Trouble was, I couldn’t help hearing what they were saying.” He ran a hand across his mouth, as though the words stung his lips. “They were talking about drugs, heroin, that sort of shit, and about a shipment they were expecting. I’m not into all that crap, so I was going to creep out of there and forget all about it, none of my business, you know, but then one of the men saw me.”
Leaves rustled and Prosper’s skin prickled as a startled pigeon took flight.
Teeth on edge, he wiped sweat from his brow with his handkerchief.
“To cut a long story short,” Jerel said, “they told me that if I told anyone what I’d heard, they’d kill my family. The next day, they made sure I got the message. One of the men raped Christine when I was at work. When I got home, she was in a right state ... You should have seen her.” His voice sounded choked with emotion and he rubbed his eyes. “The man told her it was a warning. Told her that if the police got involved, then he’d kill her and our daughter, Katie. The bastard even went into Katie’s bedroom and held a knife at her throat.” Jerel shook his head and closed his eyes, lips pursed. When he opened his eyes, he said, “When Christine described the man to me, I knew straight away I’d seen him in the club with Simmons.”
“Are you sure?” Prosper asked.
Jerel fixed him with a dangerous glare. “Of course I’m bloody sure. Christine told me he had a scar on his forehead and a tattoo of a black dragon on the back of his hand – like that one on your shirt – the same as the man I saw in the club with Simmons.”
“It’s OK, Jez. We’ll do it,” Paris said.
“Hold on a minute.” Prosper licked his lips. The scar on his thigh felt as though it was on fire. “Don’t you think it’ll be a bit obvious you’ve had something to do with it if the man gets killed?”
Jerel shook his head. “They probably think I wouldn’t dare do anything. Besides, I’ve got a plan. You see, when you kill him, I’ll be in police custody.”
“You what?” Prosper frowned.
“I’ll make sure I get arrested for drunken behaviour, spend the night in the clink. What better alibi could I have?”
The heat intensified. And it wasn’t just due to the sun.
Prosper wafted his shirt, trying to cool himself down. “You’ve got it all planned, haven’t you.”
“Every detail. I’ve traced the man. I know his name, his routine, everything. Those years I spent in the army weren’t wasted. I learned a trick or two.”
Ty wrung his hands. “Bleedin’ hell, bleedin’ hell,” he said. He looked anxious, but excited. “Are we really going to kill someone? Bleedin’ hell.”
“Too right we’re going to kill someone,” Wolfe snarled, hands on hips.
“It’s all well and good knowing the man’s name and where he lives, but what’s to stop us getting caught?” Prosper asked. “Beating someone up’s one thing, but you seem to be forgetting, it’s my job to track down murderers, and let me tell you, it’s hard to get away with something like that.”
&
nbsp; “I’ve thought about that too,” Jerel said, a sinister grin splitting his lips.
Everyone seemed to lean closer, a cabal.
“We’ll blame it on the Oracle.”
CHAPTER 13
Prosper put a finger in his ear and twirled it around as if searching for waxy deposits as he glanced at the others. He noticed Wolfe looking studious, pinching his lower lip between finger and thumb. Ty stared at Jerel with wide eyes while Paris folded his arms across his chest and nodded eagerly.
“Say that again,” Prosper said.
Jerel looked at him, features as hard as granite. “We’ll blame it on the Oracle, the man that’s in all the papers.”
“Just like that, hey.” Prosper threw his hands in the air and turned away. He took a cigarette out, lit it and inhaled before exhaling a furious cloud of smoke.
“It’s perfect,” Paris said.
“Genius,” Ty agreed.
Prosper shook his head. “It’s stupid, that’s what it is.”
“Wolfe?” Jerel asked.
“Hmmm.” Wolfe bowed his head, covering his face with the curtain of hair. “I don’t know. I’m sure it can’t be that easy.”
“At last,” Prosper said, “someone using a bit of common sense.”
“I mean, this Oracle, he’s an artist.”
“Artist! He’s a cold blooded killer.” Prosper narrowed his eyes and glared at Wolfe.
Wolfe glared back. “He’s an artist; he just uses a different medium.”
“He’s a killer. A mad man. You make it sound as though you’re in awe of him.”
Wolfe shrugged. Sparkling rivulets of sweat rolled down his abdominal muscles. “Even murder can be art.”
“Bollocks. He’s a sick fuck.” Prosper rolled his eyes. “I’m not listening any more.”
Jerel clenched his fists. “You’ve got to do it. I can’t do it on my own. I need your help.”
Prosper felt like a rat in a trap. “
No Way. You’re all just as crazy if you think I’m going along with this.” “Being a copper, you can help from the inside. You know his M.O. and his signature, which we can use,” Jerel said, as though not listening to what Prosper said. “That’s all I need you to do.”
Prosper’s head felt about ready to explode. He cradled it in his hands. The summer madness was proving more contagious than he ever imagined, and the psychos a lot closer to home.
“Did you have a good morning?” Natasha asked as Prosper walked into the living room and dropped his car keys on the cabinet.
Leon jumped down from her lap and ran across the room. “Daddy,” he cried.
“Is something wrong?” Natasha scowled, wrinkling her pert nose.
The brace that supported Natasha’s left leg stood next to the couch. The crutches lay on the floor. Prosper eyed them for a moment then focused on his son. He lifted him up and twirled him around, thankful for the distraction. “No, I’m just hot, that’s all,” he said to Natasha. Leon giggled in his arms. His cheeky face and tussled blond hair gave him a slightly roughish character. Prosper hadn’t realised how heavy his son was getting until now, and he dropped him to the ground.
“Have you been smoking again? You know I don’t like it,” Natasha said from the couch.
Prosper wished smoking were his only problem. “Look, just stop badgering me about it,” he snapped, causing Leon to back away with his head bowed.
Natasha’s blue eyes crinkled around the edges as she frowned. Her slightly upturned nose, long, delicate eyelashes, and blonde hair – cut recently in a stylish bob – gave her a cute, almost elfin appearance. Her full breasts, looking larger than they actually were because of her small frame, should have excited him. God knows they used to have him hard in a moment. But the thought that he was the cause of her handicap weighed heavy on his shoulders. He couldn’t even remember the last time they’d made love.
If it wasn’t for the accident ... Prosper knew he shouldn’t dwell on it, but he couldn’t help it. If he’d only decided not to drive that day. If only they’d taken a left turn up
Hunter Road instead of continuing on to the next turn. If only he’d seen the car hurtling towards them. If only … How many times had he asked himself those same damn questions? He looked at his wife and son – saw Natasha sitting on the couch looking back at him with that look in her eye. She always knew when he was hiding something from her. He glanced down at her leg then looked away.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing’s the matter. Why should it be? I’m just sick of you getting on at me all the time.”
“Well forgive me for being concerned. I’m not getting on at you. You don’t look well lately, that’s all. You look tired and drawn. Is it something at work? You can talk to me you know.”
“Just stop going on.” He rammed his hands into his trouser pockets. “If you want to talk, perhaps you’d like to tell me what you’ve done with my jacket.”
“What jacket?”
“The blue one I always wear.”
Natasha pulled a quizzical expression. “I haven’t seen it for a while.”
Prosper snorted.
“Please, stop arguing,” Leon said, looking between the two of them, his eyes moist with tears.
Prosper exhaled and smiled weakly. “Mummy and daddy aren’t arguing,” he said. “We’re just having a talk, that’s all.”
“Sounds like you’re arguing to me.”
“Well we’ve stopped now,” Natasha said.
Prosper crouched down and held his arms out to his son. “Come here and give me a hug.”
Leon ran back across the room and Prosper hugged him tightly, smelling the fresh aroma of shampoo in his hair. He looked over his son’s shoulder at Natasha and saw her staring back at him, her lips sucked into a tight frown. He wished to God he could talk to her, but how could he?
How can I tell her that I’m planning to kill someone, and that then we have to mutilate the body to make it look as if it was the Oracle that’s done the deed? How can I tell her that we then have to photograph the evidence of our heinous crime? How can I tell her any of that without making myself sound like a monster?
The whole idea made him sick to the stomach. The photograph wasn’t a case of point and shoot with a disposable camera. The forensic team discovered that the Oracle used a specific technique and paper. He used Art Classic paper with a soft ivory tone made by Kentmere in the Lake District. Developed in SE 5 LITH and finished in SE10 COPPER, the prints were a subtle, warm red colour. He obviously had a home studio to develop the prints. That alone was an art, which tied in with Wolfe’s macabre assertion that the killer was an artist, although he probably meant it in a subjective sense, rather than a literal one.
To recreate the Oracle’s dramatic effect, Wolfe had asked for one of the photographs and a list of the known developing agents used. Prosper knew Wolfe would have to get it spot on, because the forensic team knew everything there was about the Oracle’s style and technique; it was almost like a fingerprint. If they got one thing wrong, then it wouldn’t work, and the police would be tracking two killers.
He couldn’t believe he was even thinking about it, never mind rationalising it. He felt cold inside. Sure he could provide them with the Oracle’s M.O. and signature, could be the man on the inside to make certain the Oracle took the fall, could even be in charge of the cover up. But if he let them do what they planned, he’d be an accomplice.
Beating someone up was one thing.
Killing someone was another matter entirely.
“Daddy, why are you shaking?” Leon asked.
Prosper closed his eyes for a moment, hugged Leon one final time and then stood up and walked out of the room without answering, too afraid that if he started talking, he might never stop.
CHAPTER 14
Despite the onerous heat outside, the Oracle felt cool inside his lair. The putrescent smell of spoiled meat emanated from the corpses, and the monotonous drone of flies f
illed the cavernous space.
The Oracle stared at his victims, unmoved by the stench and sight of decomposing flesh. In spite of their apparent disparity, each of his victims was selected to create as much public outcry as possible. Jane Numan because of her deformity. Betty Granger because she was old. Michael Brown because he was young. Each of them had a part to play in his grand plan. They were all pieces of a very sinister puzzle.
He looked at the body of the young blond haired boy speared within the framework of scaffolding poles. The boy’s eyes hung from their sockets and rats nibbled at his carcass, chewing their way through his stomach, allowing his guts and intestines to slop out.
Looking at the bodies made him think about his family, but he pulled down imaginary mental barriers to keep the thoughts locked away. He needed to have a clear head. Distractions would not be tolerated.
He picked up a newspaper featuring Betty’s face on the cover, compared it to her corpse across the room. The title read: Oracle strikes again.
He read the article, relishing in the fact they now called him a heinous monster. The more shocking they found his crimes, the better it would be.
No one seemed to have deciphered any of the clues yet, which was good. It would put an end to his plan before it was completed if they worked it out too soon. And he couldn’t have that.
But it wouldn’t be long before someone realised there was method to his madness.
A few pieces of the puzzle still needed to be added, but it was now only a matter of time before things fell into place. He grinned to himself. His plan was coming together. Soon, very soon …
CHAPTER 15
Prosper switched on his computer to find an alert indicating there was an e-mail waiting in the Kult account. It had been five days since their meeting at
Thunder Road. During that time, Betty Granger’s face had featured in all the newspapers and on the televised news, making her posthumously famous. The e-mail originated from Wolfe:
Prosper, I’ve managed to develop the photograph. I think it’s spot on, but I need you to come and look at it to give me your opinion. I think it’s best if just you and I meet so as not to draw too much attention to ourselves. The less we’re all seen together the better at this stage.
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